


Always a Perfect Day

by L_Nevada



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Real Person Fiction, Supernatural, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anxiety Disorder, Asexuality, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Sexual Assault, BDSM, Bisexuality, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Body Dysphoria, Character Turned Into Vampire, Cigarettes, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Kink, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Dynamics, Forced Prostitution, Friends to family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Full Shift Werewolves, Gay Sex, Gen, Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insomnia, Kinks, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love, M/M, Male Slash, Mates, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, POV First Person, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Sexual Abuse, Polygamy, Prostitution, Relationship(s), Rituals, Romance, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Sleep Deprivation, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Telekinesis, Telepathy, Teleportation, Thriller, Time Skips, Traditions, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Violence, Werewolf Turning, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Nevada/pseuds/L_Nevada
Summary: A women is abducted in the middle of the night only to escape with her life and more power than most men would know what to do with.  Follow her journey of self discovery as she maneuvers through worlds to obtain wealth, fame, and freedom while also trying to protect and maintain her self-created family from the dangers of a strange and new supernatural world.XXXXAuthor's Notes further explaining the premise of the story, the chaotic tags, and the chapter update schedule can be found inside, if interested.  This is a first-person POV, multi-chapter work with an original female lead.  Symbol Key: "" - spoken dialogue, '' - thoughts from the main character or conversations between the main character and others held telepathically, XXX - indicates division between the story and the author (narrator) introducing passages, ---- - time skips.





	1. Green and Red (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Many of the main characters are modeled after real life people. Relationships, characteristics, life events, & personal timelines are altered in order to fit the story. This is not meant to hurt, attack, judge, mock, suggest of/about, or offend anyone.  
> This is intended to be a multi-chapter Fic I later intend to convert into a personal work or proper novel(s). The plan I have now is to use assorted celebrities as characters. The characters will be written in a way as to make that transition from fanfiction to personal work as seamlessly as possible. Know that this means that all the names mentioned in the tags, at this time, will be at one time or another brought into the story as a central character along side just as many OC characters. References will be made throughout the story to popular pop culture & other media outlets, works, & the creators of those works that are not necessarily involved in the story. Know this is a romance & includes many couples that have never been paired together before (Fandom crossovers, OC w/ an actor, etc.) and thus are not mentioned in the tags. Tags are abundant as to cover as much of the material as possible, yet some tags may be missing. Know that the tags, though confusing or unspecific, are all going to be mentioned or utilized throughout the story in some way. This is a first person narrative (POV) w/ an original female lead. POV will only change if it is imperative to the story.  
> WARNINGS: This story is rated Explicit or M for Mature themes. It will contain explicit & graphic sex scenes (involving mild to extreme kinks, many representative of the BDSM community). One scene of & then further mentions of rape as well as mentions of sexual assault and prostitution. Graphic fight scenes or explicit deaths (possible deaths of story centered characters). Crude or off color humor. Mentions, references, or scenes involving slavery & racism (against different species, namely humans as slaves to the supernatural) as well as differences in social classes. Discussions of or involving sex & sexual acts or themes. Characters who have insomnia, sleep apnea, depression, anxiety, & body dysmorphia will be represented. Mixed sexual orientations will also be represented including asexuality & polygamy. The use of alcohol & cigarettes as well as references to other drugs, use of explicit language, and blood drinking (by Vampires or for the purpose of healing wounded characters) will occur throughout the story. If any of the above-mentioned upset or offend you in anyway or you simply have no interest in any such topics then please, Do Not Continue to Read.  
> As for everyone else who has decided to click onto my story & would like to continue, Welcome! Please proceed further down the page to begin reading this thrilling, thought provoking, & emotional (at times, hopefully) journey. This project will be used as both an extensive writing exercise for me as well as an opportunity to educate myself & others on certain social issues (ex. Racism or Mental illnesses) & sub-communities (Ex. LGBTQ+ or BDSM) w/in our society today. As the story progresses, I will mention certain issues or “Political events” as they happen within the story’s timeline. Do know that as I am writing I am learning & do not mean any ill will or harm. I plan to write to each in a respectful manner while also showcasing as many different layers or cases (individuals) as possible to fit with the story. If I make a “mistake” or write in a way that you have not seen presented before feel free to politely correct & educate me on the topic or start a conversation in the comments so we may discuss it & we can all grow together.  
> Also, know that the first 2 chapters (Green and Red Part 1&2) can be read as a standalone story w/ a bit of a cliff hanger ending. I've decided to continue to release chapters from this point on. The chapters will be released every other two weeks starting with the 5th chapter (House on a Hill) to allow myself an appropriate amount of time to write. I will keep you all updated on my writing process as best as I can. Know that this story is not a one-off thing, but a long & arduous process. I’ve spent a very long time perfecting the first few chapters & I’m very excited to share my story with you and continue to write. Please read responsibly & leave a review or two along the way to let me know your thoughts & if you enjoyed the story. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read this & so, w/o further ado.  
> Enjoy the story…

Prologue

I glance towards the greenly lit digital clock sitting just underneath the small box shaped TV screen glowing 6:45 back at me. ‘He won’t be home till at least 9:00,’ I think to myself before voicing the same thought to the small black mass of fur lounging across my lap. I shift the cat from its seemingly comfortable position and stand from my permanently indented place on the couch. I head towards the front door, slipping into tennis shoes and gathering my belongings before stepping out of my apartment. I shuffle down an obnoxious four flights of stairs before ascending onto the ever bustling, dull gray pavement lining the streets of New York City.   
Stepping out of the tall building I take a right and begin to travel down familiar yet, to myself, nameless streets until I arrive at the center of China Town. I pick a restaurant, one of three that I often frequent in rotation, and step inside, waiting only seconds before I am seated. I sit here in this plain, worn, red leather booth for an hour or more, gingerly chewing my food, which is very uncharacteristic of me, and idly flip between pages in a magazine. The magazine is not for entertainment, but to give my eyes something to focus on. I’m only here to distract myself after all, and what better way to waste time than to eat.   
Once I decide that I’ve wasted all the time that I can hope to in the restaurant I exit the small traditional Chinese styled building at five after eight. I step back out into the cool air whipping through the city and decide to walk another ten minutes in the opposite direction of my apartment before circling back. My hope is that traffic will slow my naturally fast footed pass and he’ll happen to be home when I arrive.   
I try not to think about him. I’m not a child and I can certainly wait another hour. I know he’s only been gone for three days, but I can’t help missing him. Though I’d never fully admit this fact to myself, much less to him to gloat or anyone else in utter fear of showing any sort of weakness. So, instead, I try to shift my thoughts to the city around me. We’ve lived here for years now and though I may be, in the general sense, ‘used to living here’, I will never be used to living in such an enormous city. I thought I hated people before, but they simply cannot be avoided here. I find that with each state or region there are different standards in normal, weird, and stupid. I find myself often encountering the latter regardless of where I travel.   
I cross the street almost blindly with about thirty other pedestrians. I feel as much as I see the other figures move ahead of me and I assume that if I can move forward myself it is in fact time to cross. If you find yourself in New York without a sense of direction just keep moving forward and hope that you aren’t run over by a taxi. You will get where you want to be eventually. Once I leave China town I have to look up at the buildings to be able to trace myself back to my complex.   
The lights are bright here, too bright in my opinion, and the noise is almost unbearable: a million cars going ten miles over the speed limit when there is only room to move five mph to begin with. And then there’s the sound of feet. Feet covered in hard rubber, plastic, and leather. The sound is like hundreds of heads of startled cattle moving across cobble stone. Unevenly, almost franticly, with no two pairs forming the same rhythm. All of them hoping to reach their destination without being trampled to death or consumed by the predators they believe to be behind them, unaware they are only running from more scared cattle.   
Not at all surprisingly, I get lost. Or perhaps more accurately I miss a turn. Or maybe two. Which I suppose isn’t too hard to do in this kind of system, especially if you’re me. So, I decide to do what any other native New Yorker would do. I cut across two or three lanes of traffic, almost being flattened twice as many times in the process and enter an alleyway. My hope is that I’ll recognize the next street over, the street I believe I should have turned onto sooner and be able to continue retracing my steps.   
The alley is completely dark, but I don’t take any notice. This isn’t the first shortcut I’ve ever carved out for myself. The street is, of course, only a block long and I know how to deal with the random homeless person or druggie or hooker who might be sitting behind one of the dumpsters that I’ll pass when passing through these tall buildings. I continue to trudge forward, forcing myself to slow my own pace and shorten my gait as not to arrive home sooner than I already will. I can see to the other end of the alleyway. Cars passing the relatively small window of vision created by the identical fortresses that encapsulate me at a million miles an hour and the light I see cutting through the black of the alley is from shop lights and streetlamps, not stars.  
I vaguely recognize the small shop ahead and am confident that I’m moving in the right direction. As I continue to walk, about to exit the alley, I’m again lost in thought. ‘Maybe another fifteen minutes from here if I walk slowly enough. Then, as long as his flight wasn’t delayed and assuming he left the airport without many issues, he should be home fairly soon after. I need to feed Midnight anyway. And, of course, there’s always laundr-. ‘

\---------------------------------

Darkness. Pain. That smell.   
My eyes are closed, ‘Did I fall asleep?’ And the pain. The intense, constant-‘needles drilling into every inch, every cell of my body, every bone’, ‘fire burning within the furnace that is my abdomen’-like pain coursing throughout my body. I realize it’s probably what woke me in the first place. I consider myself to have a fairly high pain tolerance, but this pain I’m feeling has me wanting to scream which is how I discover I can’t. Or perhaps sound is leaving my throat, I’m certainly creating enough vibrations with my esophagus to produce some attention-grabbing noise, but I can’t hear myself if I am. I internally struggle with myself for a minute or two. I’m not sure if it is the pain that eventually subsides even the smallest amount or if I become use to the sensation, but I eventually end my attempt at screaming. And then there is that smell; I can’t even describe it. At the moment, I have nothing to compare it to, but I latch on to it, try to identify it, hoping it will distract me from the pain that is still present, but dissolving.   
Slowly, slower than usual, though I chalk it up to being due to the pain I am experiencing, I begin to regain conscious control of my body. Once able to think beyond the pain and the putrid smell filling the room I immediately realize: I’m not in my room. I’m not even in my apartment, much less my bed. My body followed my mind when waking and I now realize that I’m lying on hard cement.   
I listen intently. I hear nothing, so I begin my self-assessment. I twitch my fingers and toes, I seem to be intact. I’m able to move my extremities. ‘Should I be grateful or worried that I’m not tied down?’ I subtly twist my wrists causing my hands to bump against my jean pockets to realize I somehow still hold my belongings. Deciding against my better judgment I knock my head to the side as if still in a state of sleep and I carefully raise my eyelids to be able to assess my surroundings. As soon as I do however, my eyes lock with a pair of empty green irises staring unblinkingly back at me. There is a man merely ten feet from me. His face is pale, and his neck is contorted, mouth agape. He looks as if he’s been dead for only a few hours, but the smell is so pungent that I’m more inclined to say he has been left on this floor for several days. ‘Why didn’t I recognize it sooner?’ I flick my eyes down the rest of his body and notice that blood, which once must have been running freely from his neck, is now dry on his skin and soaked into his clothes and the concrete before him.   
Then I hear what sounds to be the opening of a door followed by a single pair of feet padding across the floor, moving in my direction. Instantly closing my eyes again, I decide to feign being asleep until he realizes I’m not only to continue acting as if I’m still trying to become conscious and have no idea what is happening. To be fair, I still don’t know, but neither of us needs to know that.   
“Hey baby. Are you waking up? Or is your ‘medicine’ just starting to kick in?” I hear a male voice ask. The sound of his steps near me and I soon sense his figure leaning over me to examine my form. “You haven’t been this quiet since we started. Though surely your system will be accepting the blood by now.”   
‘Blood? From the body?’ I ask myself, trying to gather information. ‘What medicine, have I been drugged?’ I notice that the pain has now subsided to a constant throbbing and beginning to reduce even more, rapidly. ‘Is that what he is referring to?’   
“I’m truly sorry. I should have been more prepared and had someone to feed on before we started. It’s not healthy for either of us, but I wasn’t expecting to collect you as soon as I did,” the man shifts down to the floor onto one knee between myself and the corpse. He is leaning over me to my left, but I dare not reveal how aware I truly am.  
Two fingers turn my head to face the ceiling. A hand comes to rest on my forehead then my neck. I have to remind myself to relax, to keep my pulse steady. I have to remember to breathe but now, even as I consciously make the effort, it seems like more trouble than it’s worth. “Won’t be long now. I’m so happy, so proud of you. How long did it take you, hmm, three hours at most? That’s the fastest change I’ve ever seen.”  
His first touch is startling, but it’s evident that he doesn’t mean to hurt me, at least not immediately.   
“Can I be honest?”  
‘Yes, please explain!’ I mock yell in my mind at the foreign man beside me. I give my head a shake, not in acknowledgement, but to let him know that I’m becoming conscious. I continue to force myself to breath, but now it seems not even a secondary concern in my current state. Still collecting information, I decide I’ve never heard his voice before. I also notice he isn’t native to New York, but he is acting as if he knows me, in some way.  
“You are the first person I’ve ever turned. I’ll admit, I was rather terrified when I was given permission to find a mate. I knew that it would have to be me, and I had to do it alone. If this were a recruitment job, then I would have been allowed help. But of course, I signed up for this. I still can’t believe they allowed me to mate this early. Maybe they are just more understanding than most give them credit for. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve done my part. I’ve been loyal. Maybe this is just my reward.”  
Now I believe my mind and body are completely awake. Whatever pain I had, which was initially the worst pain I’ve ever experienced, has completely vanished. I’m not even sore as far as I can tell, not that I can move. I can now trust myself to act accordingly. I didn’t expect the man to talk so much. His voice is low and methodical. He is talking very slowly as if he’s unsure that I will understand. I still don’t know what he is trying to explain to me. I feel as if I’m missing some important factor in his story. But what I do understand is that he’s looking for some kind of “mate”. And I have a daunting feeling that he means for me to be just that.   
His right hand comes to cup the back of my head, tilting it up. “Now then. How awake are you really? Can you speak for me? Can you hear me right now? Come on baby. I really don’t want to start until you’re fully awake.”  
I groan lightly as if still in pain. I’ve never been in a situation such as this before, but my training seems to be keeping me alert and calm. Hopefully I’m making the right choices.   
“There you are. Can you open your eyes?” the stranger continues to encourage. I refuse, as if doing so will delay his intentions.   
“Oh. I’ve waited so long for this. Longer than I’ve been with the family. Even before I was turned myself. I’ve never wanted anything more than to call someone else my own. So, come on baby. Wake up for me. The sooner you do the sooner we can go home.”  
And with that statement my internal alarms go off. I force myself to keep from going ridged against him. I know what I must do. I just have to wait for an opening.  
His left hand comes down over my right forearm as he slowly begins to caress me, almost in a petting motion. He continues to whisper terms of endearment in the hope that I’ll wake.  
Without making a fully conscious decision I open my eyes. I look around myself as if in confusion before meeting his own eyes staring down at me curiously. He is smiling at me. Dark round eyes a strange shade of amber I’ve never seen in human eyes are framed by his shortly trimmed hair and perfect white teeth seem to gleam in the darkness of the room.   
“Hello,” he whispers and sweeps a strand of flaxen yellow hair from my forehead, “I’m so glad you are awake. I’m sorry that we have to meet under these conditions, but this is how this has to be. You will come to thank me later. Hopefully, it will be someday very soon.”   
As he spoke his left hand joined his right in finding a comfortable hold and grasping the hair at my neck loosely. He leaned forward ever so slightly with each passing word while speaking in a soft tone and his lips parted to meet mine on the final syllable.   
I instantly cease my own breathing, which suddenly seems much easier than it normally would be to do. My eyes remain open. I don’t reciprocate; I still don’t move. Seconds tick by. I know he wants me to make the decision on my own and I still refuse. Perhaps a whole minute passes where he simply remains passive. Soft lips pressed gently against mine. Then he grows impatient. He begins to move. His hands tighten slightly, but noticeably and he begins kissing me in a way I assume is meant to convey passion and encouragement.  
I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue my façade forever. He’s already, how very typical, losing his patience. The grip of his right hand continues to tighten and he moves his left hand to rest on my hip. His thumb caresses my stomach under my shirt and just above my jeans. And so, to only buy more time to delay, I reciprocate. I squint my eyes shut as I close my mouth over his top lip and begin to kiss back. A moan, low and deep, emits from the back of his throat. He believes he has my consent, though if I had waited any longer I know he would have proceeded without it.  
His left leg crosses my body and comes to rest on the ground against my right side. In one fluid move he has encompassed me, trapping my body under his weight. His left hand ghosts further up my side to rest firmly under the wire of my bra placed as an anchor. He is using his right hand to raise my head, tipping it back and forcing his tongue down my throat.   
Mentally slapping myself for having jumped at the oral assault, I find that I can just move my arms. Taking a risk, I carefully pull my right arm free from between our bodies. The man above me slows for a moment and we both seem to hesitate. Until my hand meets his neck pulling him closer to the ground as if seeking more contact and driving him to continue with twice as much confidence as before.   
For a moment, I believe I have the situation under control. Then he takes my bottom lip in his teeth, first straight and aligned in a neat row before a single tooth pultrudes out of place and sharpens at the end. The canine pricks my lip causing it to bleed. He sucks up the blood as it flows as if savoring the taste and rolls his hips against me. Then he moans again, from either my blood or the friction created between us I cannot say for sure.   
The sudden movement causes me to tighten my grip on his neck and this is when I notice that, like his teeth, my hand has changed as well. My fingernails to be exact and ever so slightly. I’m one to normally grow out my nails, but now I notice that they are longer than usual. Longer than they have ever been. I rake my pointer finger down his neck leading him to shiver slightly and guess that my nail is now over an inch long ending at a point. I gently rake my left hand across the concrete trying not to create any noise by doing so. Then I curl my hand into a fist and slice my palm open with ease. Shocked more than I am in any pain I feel blood run down to my wrist. Then five seconds later the self-inflicted wound closes, completely healed.   
While testing my hands, the stranger above me continues to move. His left hand is gently caressing my breast while his right begins to pry open the button on his trousers. I am no child and I am certainly not naive and this little game of his has gone on for far too long.   
Suddenly, and after noticing such a seemingly simple act, I’m consumed with rage. Hot and red in my chest. And I find myself no longer thinking but acting.  
I bite the man’s top lip as hard as I can only to realize that my teeth have changed to appear like his. I have two jagged canines in my mouth with no logical reason as to how or why I possess them. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Once I’m free I can figure out what is wrong with me.  
Right now, the stranger is pleased. With both himself and my current performance. That is until I dig my newly grown talons deep into the side of his throat and rake them hard down the side of his neck, ripping through tender flesh and slicing open veins, until I’m stopped only by his clavicle bone.   
He screams in pain and rears back in shock before releasing an animalistic snarl and his left hand closes tightly around my throat, forcefully pining me to the floor of the building. I myself release no more than a quiet groan from the harsh impact.   
“I was really rather hoping you would cooperate.”  
‘I was wrong. This fucker doesn’t know me.’


	2. Green and Red (Part 2)

I’ve never been much of an athlete. Before middle school I only ever halfway and unwillingly participated in a few community-run sports. But once I was at the age to decline my mother’s offer to sign up for summer pastimes I immediately made my disinterest in physical activity known. I took P.E throughout school because it’s a required credit and I wanted nothing to do with the actual sports that were played during the school year. The very thought of joining a team only to work out for three-hour days five days a week makes me physically ill. Up till today I can hardly climb a flight of stairs, which is the only exercise I get by the way, without all the blood in my body rushing to my head causing me to feel faint. That is, until now.  
I jump out of the building made entirely of concrete onto the paved road outside. Looking up at the building I realize that it’s an abandoned parking garage several stories high. I scan my surroundings having no idea where I am. I pull out my cellphone flipping it open and closed in an instant to see the time is 11:27 a.m. I’ve lost three hours. Without a second thought I start to run. In the direction of city lights far ahead of me, I start running in the direction of home. I’m running fast, faster than I ever have before, faster than someone like me should be able to run. I never know how to breath when I run and would normally end up doubled over gasping for air with pain expanding across my chest. But now I’m not breathing. And I mean at all. I’m even conscious of the fact that I’m not breathing yet, I keep running completely effortlessly. There is no pain. I’m not dizzy. I’m running, and the street lamps and signs are passing my field of vision faster and faster with each stride I take. As I enter the city I continue to run without breaking a sweat. I’ve been running for a little over a minute now and I don’t seem to be getting tired. I don’t need to stop to take a break. Even with the amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins this sudden surge of energy seems excessive, almost unnatural. Then again, the speed at which I am moving seems unnatural as well. Which is how I reach my next observation: I shouldn’t have entered town so quickly.  
But I let these thoughts subside as I’m faced with yet another, more impending dilemma. I’m hungry. No, no it’s more than that. ‘I’m starving.’ I’m unbelievably hungry and seemingly out of nowhere. Running through the streets of New York I smell Chinese food and Italian food and hotdogs wafting through the air as I pass small businesses or food truck and my hunger somehow grows. My need for a meal is so intense that I begin to smell the bread from my favorite pastry store even though I know that it’s four or more blocks away. And there’s a new smell. A smell I’ve never noticed in the city, but now it appears on every street. It’s breath taking, but not overwhelming. As if it is just under my nose regardless of where I turn my head. It smells like the freshest spring and the sweetest chocolate mixed into a bottle of the most expensive wine. I must find it.  
“No,” I hear myself voice suddenly. ‘What am I thinking? I have to get home.’  
Night life is alive and thriving in Manhattan and I find myself running past more and more people the further I enter town. I’ve never been happier to be ignored then I am right now as I pass pedestrians who seem to be acting as if they cannot even see me. Only six blocks away from my apartment and I’m stopped by a horde of them waiting for a crosswalk to signal green. Unwilling to wait for technology I stop running and notice I can once again read the signs around me. Then I push my way through the irritable crowd.   
“Hey, got somewhere to be?” – “Ouch!” – “Watch where you’re going.”   
I don’t bother to mutter the ‘sorry’ that the people shouting at me wouldn’t hear. I fleetingly notice that the smell has become more prominent as I surround myself with people before breaking free of the group to sprint across the street and continue my quest to reach my apartment.   
Before I do however, I come up on my place of work and stop dead in my tracks.   
I turn to face the building from the street. Only two stories high, a rather small business building to be so far into the bustling city. It’s a private practice and has grown dark and cold for the night. No one is scheduled to arrive for another 6 hours.  
And the smell is coming from inside.  
Without warning, I’m standing before the employee entrance located on the left side of the building. My hand holds the key which will allow me to enter and I quietly slink inside. I opt not to turn on lights in fear of disclosing my location and find that my night vision has spontaneously improved. Since the age of 12 my vision has slowly deteriorated yet, I’m able to see clear down the hallway in the pitch black of night.   
But I pay no mind to my suddenly exceptional eyesight as I creep down the hall. I’m aware that there are patients currently in boarding and I attempt not to disturb them as I follow my nose through the clinic. I turn into the first open door which is at the end of the hall. I’m greeted by an empty exam room with a sink and cabinets presumably hanging full of medications. A small scale is resting on the exam table that someone was too lazy to put away.  
I find a similar setup in the room next door and continue my search upstairs. I poke my head into the large boarding room and look to the first patient I see. A black Great Dane lifts its massive head silently in my direction from the first kennel facing the entrance. It sniffs at me before choosing to go back to sleep instead of alarming its neighboring captives. Almost every cage lining the walls of the small room is filled with a cat or dog of some distinct breed and I’m suddenly reminded that it’s spring break next week.  
“Sorry,” I mutter into the room only to advance down the hallway. The smell had increased in intensity when I entered the boarding room, but I convinced myself it’s coming from elsewhere in the building.   
I pass the pharmacy and the smell leaks out from the fridge. I open it expecting to find some staff members forgotten lunch from several days back and am, for some reason, surprised to find medicine. Well there’s no reason for me to be surprised. This is the pharmaceutical refrigerator after all. The staff fridge is in the conference room down stairs. Yet the smell permeating my nose is distinctly emanating from this fridge. I stare into the ice box half expecting a T-bone steak to push a few vials of steroids out of its way and present itself to me, but all I see is prescription medicines, many of which I’m extremely familiar with, and a few bags of a deep red liquid.   
“Oh fuck,” I whisper while reaching into the medical tray that holds bags of preserved blood which are to be sent out to a lab for further testing for this and that which the clinic itself doesn’t perform. I startlingly realize that it is the blood that I have been searching for since I entered the building. It is, in fact, blood that I was smelling while on the street and in the boarding room still in the animals themselves. I can’t help but to consider the fact that if the pharmacy had been any further away I wouldn’t have been drawn to its smell and could have hurt the animals I’m licensed to care for. And yet this thought doesn’t stay with me for long because the hunger that has been growing inside me since before I entered the building takes over. I don’t ponder why the blood in the fridge has been collected or what it will be used for in the future. I don’t stop to consider that it might be needed later for emergency transfusions. Instead I grab the first bag my fingers touch and rip it in half before downing the cool red syrup almost too quickly to taste.  
But I do taste it. And it tastes like the most comforting and filling meal you can possibly image. It tastes like nectar from a flower and a gamy piece of meat that has been salted almost too much. It tastes like life itself and twice as good as it smells. It’s only after the fifth bag that I find my hunger subsiding and I slow enough to read the packaging.   
A complex serial number used to distinguish it from other nearly identical pouches and other important information about the sample are stamped out across the front. What disturbs me the most about the chilled plastic wrap in my hand is the fine print towards the bottom which reads Feline sample. The red liquid I just consumed like Gatorade had once flown freely and given life to an animal who had come to my practice for attention and medical care.   
I dispose of the bags quickly and neatly as not to leave room for question or error. The missing bags I handled won’t be spoken of for several days, or possibly weeks, if they are remembered at all. After all they can only be missed if someone is expecting the bags to produce answers to an awaiting client. Anyone who notices that the results haven’t returned in a timely manner is unlikely to question their disappearance.  
“Oh, the lab must have miss-placed them is all,” I hear a nameless voice say to soothe my conscious. “Or they were simply lost during transit. We’ll just schedule appointments with the clients to take additional samples. It was no one’s fault. Everything is alright.”   
Everything is alright.  
Not when less than an hour ago, I fled a parking garage from a man who drugged me. Not after losing over three hours of memory only to escape from a man who tried to “convert” and rape me. Not when after escaping with my life, short just one match from my matchbox, I discover new found powers and heightened senses which helped me to locate the liquid I just consumed. Not after breaking into my own office building at midnight only to steal and consume 80 ounces of blood from animals I’ve likely never seen or treated after being a devout Pescatarian for almost 20 years.   
‘Is everything alright?’  
Suddenly I’m moving in the direction of the exit. My anxiety, sneaking up on me as it is prone to do, completely overcomes me and I no longer care how many animals I disturb as I desert the clinic. I hardly remember to lock the back door as I step outside once more and run all the way home.  
And then I’m home. The lock clicks audibly, but the door opens silently allowing me to enter the apartment unheard. All the lights, excluding lights in the kitchen, are off. I lean my back heavily against the wooden door and breathe deeply to calm my nerves and all too quickly realize that it’s a mistake to do so. Because what I inhale is unmistakably the smell of home. I smell my cat who has been with me for six years. I smell her coat on the living room couch and in the carpets upstairs. I smell her toys resting by her empty food bowl in the kitchen. I smell the remains of seafood dishes I’ve eaten during the week in the trash and the alcohol is the cabinets. I smell the laundry, yet to be run through its cycle so much more powerfully than I would normally be able to. I smell ashes sitting in the tray from a newly put out cigarette and coffee brewing in the kitchen.  
And him. The smell is curling through the air from the top of the stairs and drifting throughout the apartment. The smell is like cigarettes and motor oil and…  
Feet.   
‘Feet’, I think, tugged out of my positive thoughts, as I look down at my own and realize that his shoes are sitting beside the door waiting for my own to join them. It’s his shoes that make me realize the kitchen light is still on, not because I left it on, but because I’m not alone. He’s home and my anxiety nearly doubles. Because there’s something new mixed in with his smell. Something sweet, like icing. It’s more than his normal musk and all I can think of is the scene I caused in the clinic.   
“Meow.”  
My head jerks to the staircase to find Midnight’s round yellow eyes brooding at me on the bottom step and I suddenly feel like I’ve been caught by my mother after sneaking in well past my curfew.  
“MeOow.”  
“Hey Lace?”  
Norman, oblivious as he can be, hears Midnight and calls to me from the kitchen assuming I’ve returned. Looking to the greenly lit clock numbers on the TV stand I read 12:03. Even with delays, Norman wouldn’t have returned any later than 11 o’clock and, assuming I would be home waiting, has expected me to walk through the door ever sense.   
Jumping clear over Midnight’s head I bound up the stairs hoping he won’t follow. Though I flew up the stairs in hardly more than a single second with minimal stomping I scared Midnight with my speed and she ran into the kitchen towards the safety of her dad.  
I search for my own safety in the form of my bedroom and bolt the lock on the bathroom door effectively separating myself from the remaining residence of the household. Cutting on the lights I’m shocked to see that my hand is dyed a harsh red. My arms are covered in blood from the elbows down. I realize this is the first time I’ve been in proper lighting and stopped to look at myself since I woke up. I frantically attempt to scrape the blood off my limbs in the porcelain sink only to realize that my t-shirt and jeans are speckled in it as well. My anxiety, ever growing, and with no rational explanations to calm myself, I do something I’ve only allowed myself to do a handful of times in my 34 years of life.   
I have a panic attack. Cutting off the faucet only to sit down on a worn to shit bathmat I hang my head between my knees and shut down.   
Too many thoughts swarm my head and I’m so freaked out from tonight’s events I can’t convince myself to grab onto a single one (which is how I would normally stop my attacks from progressing). With a weight sitting high on my chest, my body shakes uncontrollably, and a migraine begins to take root. The only reason I’m not gasping for oxygen is because I no longer seem to need any. I guess there’s a bright side to everything.  
A minute later and my mental breakdown is disturbed by the sound of feet trudging down the carpeted hall towards the bedroom. Norman enters and allows Midnight to jump from his arms onto the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. I hear him walk, or stomp considering his steps are so much louder in the quiet apartment than the last feet I found myself alone with, towards a dresser and press play on an old CD player.   
“Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica begins to play as he sits on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom door. “Lacey?” he calls out after the melody begins and I don’t even lift my head in acknowledgement. My body continues to vibrate on its own accord and I try to shift my thoughts to the song that’s playing.   
“I heard you come in.” - ‘Oh, did you now?’ - “Any reason you didn’t stop and say hi?”  
Normally I’d respond with a sarcastic response somewhere along the lines of “I didn’t realize I had a curfew” or “No, not particularly, but thanks for caring mum” or by simply telling him to fuck off, but all I can manage to mumble is, “I don’t want to hurt you.”   
There’s a word for what I am now. There’s a word for the things that eat what I now eat. That do the things I can now do. There’s a word for what has the kind of thoughts about human beings that I suddenly have about my partner. There’s a word.  
“Ace?”  
Raising my head, I begin to burn holes through the bathroom door. I’m looking in the exact place where I know Norman to be sitting on the bed, leaning forward to hear any noise I might make through the thin wall that divides us. I can imagine the exact look on his face and the concern in his eyes. He’s worrying about me. I just know it.   
But he’s not supposed to worry about me. I’ve always been the one to worry for both of us. He’s known me for long enough to know that I don’t stay out late by myself. He knows that I would have wanted to be home when he arrived and if I had been able to I would have shot him a text as to why I wouldn’t be. He knows me well enough to know that if I didn’t greet him upon my return after not having seen him for three days that something is wrong.   
I know he’s expecting me to stroll out of the bathroom with a confident air about myself and make some offhanded remark that the only reason I didn’t stop to say “Lucy, I’m home” is because I had to take a piss. Because by doing so I would be saying “I’m okay” and he would know that he had just been over reacting. Everything would instantly return to normal and we could go on about our evening.   
But I don’t feel normal and nothing will ever be the same again. And no amount of anxiety or sarcasm is going to get me out of walking through the door that is meeting my glare with full force and having a serious conversation with my boyfriend. Which is something neither of us are inherently good at on our best days.   
Humming along to the new melody as “Welcome Home (Sanitarium)” begins to play I unsteadily rise to my feet. Though it’s no longer necessary to do so, I take a few deep breathes as I raise a shaky hand to unlock the only barrier that is keeping Norman safe.   
He’s calmed me from one other attack before. It was while I was still in college and having a total mental break down over the uncertainty of my future. It was the only time he had ever seen me scared. Seen me lose control. Compared to what little he physically did last time, he did absolutely nothing to ease me in this moment. Even though I’m terrified of hurting the man in front of me, when my eyes lock with his upon opening the door, I instantly become the epidemy of self-control.   
“Your eyes.”  
My nerves harden. No more shaking. I must remain calm. We stare at each other silently and I examine his features with a critical eye. I can tell he’s still in the clothes that he had worn on the plane. He’s recently lost sleep since traveling if the darkening circles around his eyes are anything to go by. However, he’s wide awake now, waiting for my response.   
“Lacey?” he asks, and I watch as his mouth forms my name intently as if I’ve never seen him speak before. The stupid mole above the left corner of his mouth that he’s so damn self-conscious of draws my attention for a second and I have an urge to kiss it. Then he swallows purposefully, drawing my attention to stare blatantly at his neck. His skin is pale white and his shirt happens to be positioned to expose his left shoulder. A small tattooed “X” is printed on the juncture of his neck.  
My teeth sharpen on their own during my examination. I gasp and quickly cover my mouth with my right hand. I turn my body purposefully away from the eyes staring at me from the bed.   
“Lace?” he asks, discouraged at the loss of eye contact. Normally he would wait for me to begin a conversation, yet his own nerves are starting to build. “What’s wrong?”  
“I don’ know,” I finally answer with a half-truth. “I don’t know.”   
“Can you come sit on the bed?” and it’s the first complete sentence either of us have spoken.  
I look to the spot he indicates and notice that Midnight is sitting close at hand. She’s waiting for me to join her in bed to go to sleep for the night. “I can’t.”  
“Why?”  
Under different circumstances, I would be laughing at our communication skills. As I’ve mentioned, we are both people of few words and intensive conversation is difficult for either of us to partake in. But how do I begin to explain the biological change that has taken place in my body without sounding as if I’ve genuinely lost my mind or scaring Norman straight out of the house?  
I do the only thing I can come up with on the spot and remove my hand to expose the fangs that now adorn my face.   
Norman jerks his head back slightly, but his elbows remain on his knees. He’s not scared, just taken aback.  
“Where were you?”  
“China town,” I cave, “for dinner. Waitin’ on you to get home. I was walkin’ back through an alley and my vision went black.”  
Norman’s back straightens; I know where his minds goes. “What did he do?”  
Suddenly I have a new reason not to look him in the eye as I toss my too long hair over my left shoulder and answer, “Nothin’. Really. I mean he drugged me, as far as I can tell. And he did this,” I motion towards my fangs, aware that I’m hiding behind my right shoulder attempting to put up another boundary with my body between myself and the bed. “But I got out. Woke up in an abandoned parking garage outside of the city. I took care of him.”  
The last sentence seems to shake the man on the bed as he takes in the state of my clothing. “You realize how far away out of town is? How did you get back?”  
A smile ghosts across my face as I reply, “I ran.”  
He barks out a laugh and I’m forced to look at him again. “Do you think I’m an idiot? You’re covered in blood! What the hell happened to you?”  
“What do expect me to say,” and suddenly I’m the one being defensive. “I woke up on a floor with a man standing over me and suddenly I could do things that no other human can physically do? He attacked me, so I defended myself and escaped without injury because all my injuries heal by themselves.”  
“Lacey, your eyes are yellow,” he says, a little quieter. As a couple, we rarely fight. I can’t even recall the last time either of us raised our voices towards each other in a way that wasn’t playful or accompanied by a laugh shortly afterward. There’s just no reason for us to really, especially considering how often Norman is away due to work. Norman, as aware of this fact as I myself am, is hoping to keep this from turning into an actual argument.  
“Guess it’s a side effect. Or a mutant change. Hell, maybe I’m a superhero now,” and just like that, sarcasm returns to my voice to keep me safe as if I was never on that bathroom floor.   
“Really? You think now’s the time? We need to know what really happened to you. What you might be.”  
“I think I know actually. And I think you’re in danger because of it.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I’m hunger.”  
Silence. Neither of us are mad anymore, but we are both at a loss for words. What do you do when your spouse is taken from you and turned into a blood thirsty vampire? A few thoughts enter my mind and all of them strike me as nothing less than horrifying.  
“Have you eaten?” I can’t tell if it is a question or an assessment of my position.   
“Yes.” I figure lying will only confuse the situation. I’m thankful that the source of “food” came from an animal. “I stopped at the clinic. Stole some reserved samples. They won’t be missed.”  
“How can you be sure?”  
I roll my eyes, a nasty habit of mine, and I’m starting to, strangely, feel like myself. “For the same reason I know the man isn’t going to be bothering myself or anyone else ever again. I handled it.”   
“You always do,” the statement sounds harsh, but Norman smiles and I know he can sense it too. The awkwardness or unfamiliarity that we’ve never once previously had before is dissipating. “So, now what? My roommate is a vampire?”  
“Suppose so. Assuming you’re not scared of me,” I say grinning with my mouth wide open (something I would have never done previously) to show off my new pearly whites.   
“I’ve never been scared before,” he replies and it’s true. I’ve always had one of those faces that suggests that people should stay away from me, but Norman’s the only man that’s never feared me.   
“Meow,” Midnight whines effectively making herself the new center of attention.   
Norman stretches across the bed causing his shirt to rise past his jeans and picks her up into his arms. “Now, you are not allowed to eat this one.”  
“No, never,” I state while watching the cat nestle into my partner’s arms and can’t help but to wonder what I will eat instead.  
Norman notices my shift in thought and attempts to make a light-hearted joke by saying, “Well, I guess you’ll just have to eat me.”  
Looking to his neck once more, “I already do,” but the comment comes out sounding much more possessive than I intended it to.  
A look crosses Norman’s face that looks dangerously close to excitement before he reminds himself of where he is and bottles it once more. With a wave of his hand gesturing towards me, he asks, “How does all that work?”  
“I don’t know.” I’m still tracing the artery down his neck that has suddenly become very prominent.   
Midnight bores once Norman stops stroking her back and she drops off his legs effortlessly, rubbing against my own, before excusing herself to the litter box located in the bathroom.   
“We should probably figure that out,” Norman comments and the mention of “we” suddenly wakes something inside me.   
“Should we,” I ask and my words, laced with my Southern accent, come out a bit too sultry for the current situation.   
“You have to eat,” he nearly insists, creating a new sort of tension in the room.  
The choice is mine. The choice has always been mine, that’s just how our relationship works, but I’m finding myself unable to make the mature decision. Unable to make the right decision. Because right now all I can think about is the conveniently located tattoo and the sound of a pulse growing in its intensity.   
I close the distance, a mere three feet, between myself and the bed. This time Norman does lean away from my movements. He takes a startled breath at the unnatural speed at which I move. I stand stoic over my boyfriend who leans back on the bed against the palms of his hands.   
My senses are once again over loaded. Norman, adrenaline coursing through his veins and blood rushing in both directions because he is unaware of what he wants or the level of danger he is in, releases what are recognizable as pheromones that I’m only just able to pick up on.   
He smells like food, and sex, and need.   
And I’ve never been so conflicted.  
“I don’t know how,” I state with conviction and I mean that I don’t know how to stop.   
He remains silent. He knows I’m thinking faster than the speed of light and he doesn’t want to be the pressure that breaks the dam.   
Because a dam is about to break inside me and I’m weighing all the cons because currently the pros are winning.   
Before I’ve even made up my mind I’m on the bed. Or more specifically, in Norman’s lap. My left hand is suddenly in Norman’s short hair and his breathing increases dramatically.   
His eyes having never left my face seem to witness a change in it. He decides to inform me in this moment that, “Your eyes are black.”  
And for the second time tonight, I’m consuming red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: The end of part 2, but there are still more chapters to come. Please leave a review to let me know your thoughts and I'll see y'all next Friday with an update. Until then, have a wonderful weekend.


	3. It Became Real

When I wake up, I’m lying in my bed. A small sliver of sunlight penetrates the blinds and lands perfectly over my right eye. My first thought is, ‘Who’s the dumbass that forget to close the curtains?’ knowing damn well it was most likely me. My second thought being, ‘Maybe this means that last night was all a dream.’  
I roll out of bed in a way as not to wake anyone who may still be in it. I’m surprised that I’m not overcome with an insatiable urge to pee and that I’m unusually alert compared to how I would be most any other morning. That is, until I stop in front of the bathroom mirror only to realize that the theory that vampires can’t be exposed to sunlight must only be a myth.   
I’m wearing the clothes I came home in. Several layers of blood splatter lay across my chest and are mimicked by a few smaller deposits on my jeans. Though all of it has now dried into permanent stains I can tell which splotches hit my body first from the messy events that occurred over the course of the evening.   
Yet the state of my clothing is not half as frightening as the state of my physical appearance. My eyes travel up my body beginning at my arms, now strangely defined by new muscle tone, up my neck revealing skin a shade of white so pale it makes me look ill, to finally land on my face. My face is clear of any blemishes, marks, or acne scaring I may have had, but it’s more than that. What little color I had before has been drained from my body and I now look like a literal ghost of my former self. There is also dried blood soaked into my thin lips which harshly contrasts with my new skin tone. It begins at the left corner of my mouth and seems to have trailed down my chin to drip onto my throat. And then there’s my eyes. Norman was right about their change, but he doesn’t know how right he was. Considering the mirror now I no longer see my stormy gray eyes that constantly changed their shade, but I see the eyes, which are a strange shade of amber, of the man that took me last night. On the night that changed everything.  
I’m nervous to return to the bedroom. 

 

XXXXXXX

 

We spent the next three days in the apartment. I was far too worried that people would notice my change in appearance, my change from human to supernatural, to leave the house. I called in to the clinic to request that someone handle my shifts and continued to feed on Norman once a day only to spend the remainder of each wishing that I still was.   
Even before my current predicament we never left the house much. In fact, we never left our floor unless we had a specific reason to and why bother with a daily dose of vitamin D without due cause to seek it out. Only this time was different. We had an excuse to stay cooped up.  
On the fourth day of my new life we, and by we, I of course now mean Norman, ran out of food. Ordering take out is always the go to plan, especially when spending a lazy weekend indoors, but we weren’t having fun. We were worrying. We needed space. We needed air. We needed to know that I could leave the house and return to my life without attacking every walking punch bowl that passed me on the street or being run out of town by a swarm of pitchforks. So, we left the apartment during the midafternoon. Wearing identical sunglasses, even though the forecast called for partly cloudy skies, and walking a little closer than I’d normally prefer with a grocery store destination in mind.

 

XXXXXX

 

“Are you okay?”  
“I’m not spontaneously bursting into flames if that’s what you mean.”  
I try to walk with my head held high, but my own self-consciousness is starting to weigh me down. I’ve been walking in silence for several minutes with Norman just to my right and I realize this is because we have nothing to talk about. He’s far too concerned with my own being to talk casually and I’m too concerned with every other life we pass to explain to him what’s going on in my head. I’m also almost certain I shouldn’t be describing the changes that have occurred within me over the past few days while we are out in public. So, we continue to walk in silence.  
Observing my surroundings will not distract me today, so I continue to stare straight ahead. Worry has a smell and Norman reeks of it. It’s honestly starting to piss me off. It’s been three days and though all he can do is worry about me I’ve begun to accept the fact that this is how I must live the rest of my life. I’m just no longer sure how long I will be living it.  
The super market we are walking to is now within sight. I’ve never enjoyed shopping. I’ve always found the practice to be tedious, but today I’m almost relieved to see the store. The automatic sliding doors open and close swiftly with each warm body that passes through them and from here, still three blocks away, I begin to pick up the smell of fresh produce stocked inside.   
Then out of nowhere there’s a new smell. It’s not from a human or an animal. It smells like nothing of the food that wafts from every restaurant and store in the city and it doesn’t smell like pollution in the air from factories or cars. It smells like…me. ‘But how can that be?’ I didn’t even know I had a smell. ‘Are there others like me? Should I be afraid?’  
The smell moves fast. I follow the scent with a turn of my head as it moves across my field of vision. Instead of continuing my trek to the store I turn right at the end of the street and begin to look for the smell. I know that I can’t spend my entire life scared of others like me. It occurs to me that this may be the only other person like me, or at least within my immediate vicinity, and I can’t let them get away without asking questions. Maybe this person, who has a very similar scent to myself, can help me.   
I hear Norman voice a question behind me, but I don’t bother to respond. I know he’ll follow.  
As I walk I gradually increase my speed until I finally see who I’ve been smelling. It’s a man. He’s wearing a black suit and has his hair is combed neatly in one direction. He’s carrying a briefcase and seems to be walking as if he is late to a meeting. This observation however, doesn’t deter me.   
I jog to catch up to him. I’m not moving half as fast as I was on the night of my attack, yet Norman still seems surprised by my pace as he nearly sprints to keep up with me.  
“Lacey?”  
Still ignoring the persistent questions, I do the only thing I can think to do and call out to the man when I reach a proper shouting distance, “Hey, briefcase.”  
I feel the embarrassment creeping up my neck. To anyone else on the street it must look as if Norman and I are in a chase scene in some bad cop movie. Normally I would do everything to prevent causing a scene, but I can’t afford that luxury today. This may be the only opportunity I ever have.   
The man hears me, and even turns his head as if he is going to look back, before thinking better of himself and continuing to walk faster down the street.   
“Hey,” I call again, “I know you can hear me. Do you know what I am?”  
The man stops this time and whips around on his heels. His face immediately contorts into that of anger.   
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I say as I stop ten feet from the man as not to enter his personal space. Pedestrians continue to walk down the sidewalk and ignore the encounter in typical New Yorker fashion, “Can you smell me? Are we the same?”  
“Unfortunately,” the man sneers, evidentially crossed that I am speaking so publicly, “Keep your voice down Yearling.”  
“I don’t know what that means.”  
The man stops. He looks to Norman who stops behind me and his face softens in recognition. “You’re alone out here aren’t you?”  
“Yes,” my voice is honest. “Can you help me?”  
“No, I can’t,” the stranger says as he takes a step back, “you’re not my responsibility.”  
“Please,” and the word feels heavy in my mouth. I’m not one to go out of my way to make conversation with strangers. I’m even less familiar with asking for help, “You’re the first person I’ve met whose- “  
“Look kid,” the man steps forward and whispers, motioning for me at the same time to keep my voice down, “I’m not your Maker. I’m sorry they abandoned you, but it’s common. You have to learn how to survive on your own.”  
“I wasn’t abandoned,” I spit out between my teeth. “You could say I rejected him. Please, I just have a few questions.”   
The man looks sporadically around the street before glancing down at his watch and huffing in frustration. He places his briefcase on the sidewalk and, without looking at me, fishes for the wallet in his suit.   
“Look, I can’t help you. I don’t know who you are and I’m running late as it is. But,” He looks through dozens of cards, some are credit cards while others are business cards, stuffed into his pocket book until he pulls out the one he’s searching for. The small contact card looks as if it has been passed around half a dozen times since it was printed and has been shoved into just as many billfolds. A name and address are the only words printed on the white slip of cardstock. “Go to this address at any time. She’ll help you. God knows she helped me.”  
And without another word the stranger walks away. I watch as he walks down the street and realize I didn’t even ask his name.  
“What the hell was that about?” Norman asks as he watches the man disappear into a building across the street.   
“He smelled like me,” I explain, looking down to the card placed into my hand, “He was like me.”

\--------------------------

 

I step out of the taxi and walk to the front door leaving Norman to pay the cabbie. The number over the dark painted door matches the number on the business card the man in the suit gave me earlier today and so I step inside.  
The building is dark. A single window to the outside world is covered by an inexpressive curtain. A dull colored carpet worn with age hides the floor and the walls are covered in seemingly ancient wall paper. A window is built into the left wall which opens to an office. A single clip board sits on the window sill and a pen connected by a chain hangs over the edge. Below the window an antique table sits two feet off the floor holding an assortment of figures. Most of the idols take the shape of mythical creatures. Some are suggested to be dark in their nature. The remainder of the floor is left bare, apart from an antique love seat standing in front of the wall facing the office and two worn, wooden chairs with their hard backs against the wall opposite the entrance. Beside them is a doorway leading out of the room with strings of multicolored beads grazing the floor to further separate the divided rooms. The beads are the only color in the building.   
Norman enters the quant establishment after me and, when he catches my eyes after they have finished scanning the room, gives me a look as if to silently ask, ‘Are you sure about this?’   
I pause before nodding an affirmative and step over to the twin chairs while he examines the clip board. Before I can sit however, a voice drifts in from the other room.   
“Come on in here child,” a sweet, singsong voice weaves in and out between the beads, “you won’t find your answers sitting in that chair.”  
My heart starts at the sudden sound of another’s voice that cannot be seen. Yet my reaction doesn’t keep me from looking to my partner with complete confidence before parting the weighted marbles to enter the next room over.  
“Sorry,” I mutter, lacking in confidence between the short distance of the two rooms. “Didn’t know if you were already with someone or not.”  
“Don’t apologize child,” an attractive black woman who looks to be about the age of 35 sits at a round table in the middle of the room. She has long, thick black braids pulled up high in a ponytail and light makeup to enhance her already stunning features. Her voice is cheerful, though she speaks almost in a hushed whisper as if she is speaking to a frightened animal. I hope she uses this voice when speaking to everyone and not just because I appear timid. “Just take a seat across from me and tell your friend he can come on in unless he’d prefer to stay put outside.”   
I walk into the cramped room completely taken up by the round table to allow Norman to take the chair beside me.  
The table is covered by a large red table cloth of precisely embroidered fabric. There is a crystal ball in the center and a deck of cards I’ve seen used to read fortunes on various TV shows. Sitting across from the lady I notice all the jewelry adorning her. She has large golden hoop earrings and several rings squeezed on to most of her fingers. Multiple necklaces hang on her almost completely flat torso at graduated lengths. Most of the jewelry appears fake, but it still reflects the light from the lamp in the corner of the room with each twist of her body. The strange woman has an inviting smile and looks at me expectantly with dark eyes. Once I’m settled in my seat I take what I believe to be a subtle sniff of the room and realize her scent is the same as the man’s who gave me the card.   
She seems to notice when my eyes land on the clear sphere between us, “Oh, don’t worry about those. They’re props for the tourists. Humans are so gullible, as I’m sure you’ve realized,” I must have been making a skeptical face. She maintains her smile.   
I nod in understanding and return my face to its neutral expression. I feel as if I have just walked onto a literal movie set. You only see these kinds of places on TV, and yet, here I sit. Still, I want to give this a try. The man said this is where I would find help.  
“My name is Miss Trinity. And, you are,” the stranger gives her name to begin the conversation.  
I look at Norman with a raised eyebrow before replying, “My name is Lacey Langer. I’m here because I was given your card and told you could help me. Do you know what I am?”  
“Wonderful,” Trinity clapped her hands together as her voice suddenly rose, “Well, first things first you have to tell me how old you are.”  
“I-I’m 34,” I answer, stuttering.  
“No, no, no child. I mean how long has it been since you were turned. Since you were ‘reborn’ or whatever it is the younger ones are calling it these days.”  
She knows. She’s like me. I’m not alone, but I suspected as much. This news does nothing to ease my concerns. “It was four nights ago.”   
“Oh my! You are so terribly young, aren’t you? I’m so glad you found me when you did. Most don’t until a few months into their transformations after they’ve already slaughtered about half a small town’s population. Now tell me dear, have you been feeding on your pet?” Trinity is smiling ear to ear as if I had just presented her a gift and has a look in her eye as if she has me completely figured out. As if she knows exactly the answers she’s going to give me and in what order before I even think of the questions to ask.  
“My what,” I asked, surprised by the straightforwardness of the question. Norman blushes before ducking his face briefly from either of our view.   
“You’re human companion, dear. Tell me, did you know him before?”  
“Yes, he’s my boyfriend. And I’ve fed on him once a day only taking as little as I can stand to.”  
“Oh no, that’s not enough after just having changed. Nowhere near enough. Here, give me one second,” And she was up from the table and out of the room in the blink of an eye; quite literally. A second later and she was back with two dark black bottles in her hands. She placed one in front of me before taking a sip of her own and explaining, “It’s synthetic blood. It is made with all the nutrients of human or animal blood while the taste falls somewhere in between. It’s perfectly healthy and a vampire can solely off of Synth without ever touching a living being and then your boyfriend won’t have to walk around lightheaded all the time. Well, that is, until you learn how to drink from a human properly. Then, well, why wouldn’t one want to?”  
There it was. That word again. Except, it wasn’t just echoing about in my head or etched across Norman’s face. Someone was brave enough to say the word out loud and somehow it made me forget about my feelings of this room being like a prop set. Suddenly my consciousness was slammed back into my body for what was perhaps the first time since that night in the alleyway. Something just clicked for me in my mind and the last three days of my life instantly became real. Without even thinking I pick up the glass bottle with a black wrap which reads “Synth” in bold letters and take a long drink.   
“Lacey!” I hear Norman grumble in my ear.  
The drink feels cool as it passes my lips and washes down my throat. Trinity’s right, it doesn’t taste as sweet as Norman’s blood, but it isn’t nearly as gamy as the blood from the animals at the clinic. This feels and tastes as if it is meant to be consumed as a drink making the process of drinking synthesized blood bearable. It almost feels, normal.   
“Feel better I’d imagine,” Trinity asks between sips from the neck of her own drink. “You should have been drinking much more often than you said you were. The more blood you drink the quicker and less painful both the actual change and the transitional period is for a Yearling. I’ll send you home with a couple cases. Which brings me on to the next topic of discussion: you need to turn your human companion.”  
“What?” Now it was Norman’s turn to panic. To be honest the thought hadn’t crossed either of our minds as even being possible, much less an option. My first instinct is to ask how to do so, just out of sheer curiosity, but judging by Norman’s response the more appropriate question to ask would be, “And why would I need to do that?”   
“Well you two have such a wonderful opportunity presented to you seeing as how you already know each other personally from before. If you were to change him now not only would you become a Maker, which is by far the greatest accomplishment of any vampire’s life, but you’ll be able to help each other through the transitional year. Not to mention you’ll be the same age for the rest of, well, forever. Vampires spend centuries looking for a mate but entering the world with a mate makes the transition so much more accessible for each of you especially after being abandoned by your own Maker.”   
“Who said I was abandoned,” I ask defensively.  
“Well that’s why you’re here isn’t it? If you had a Maker who genuinely cared for you, as all Makers should, then you wouldn’t be seeking help during your transition. Your Maker would be there to guide you and you wouldn’t have starved for so long.”  
“No, it’s more than that, isn’t it? How did you know that I didn’t come alone?”  
“Do you mean, other than my heightened senses of smell and hearing that allowed me to know that two people were entering my place of work without a knock of the door, one being a newly turned female vampire and another being a human male? I can see through the beads,” Trinity deadpanned with a finger pointing lazily towards the curtained doorway before smiling brightly again. “No, you’re right. There’s more to know than the fact that I’m a smartass.”  
Norman huffed beside me and began nibbling at his thumb for something to focus on that wouldn’t make noise.   
“The truth is I’m a Clairvoyant. Humans often refer to me as a Medium, hence the cards and this stupid thing,” Trinity explained as she tapped the crystal ball degradedly. “Most Vampires, and I mean something close to 85% of us, develop more than the stereotypical powers you see in the movies. Yes, we all have heightened senses, unobtainable strength and endurance, and eternal life. But most of us are born with an additional power. One that is unique to us in some way. Some can fly, some can teleport, while others can multiple or become invisible. Few are left without an additional power, but even fewer develop more than one. The more additional powers one has the more powerful overall the individual vampire is and these are the Vampires that are often put into positions of power in, say, the government. The most I’ve personally seen is three additional powers, but I’ve heard that the strongest who have had up to five abilities in all. I myself only have one power which is clairvoyants. And don’t worry, I don’t claim to be able to see the future or talk to spirits like most human Mediums do. My gift allows me to read people. It’s sort of comparable to mindreading, only I can’t hear actual thoughts. I can sense other’s emotions and if I were to touch you I could influence you to feel another emotion. And though I can’t necessarily see the future I can tell both of you the powers you will adapt once you’ve surpassed the transitional period and most likely when they will begin to develop because I can sense those powers within you. Yes, even you son, though you are still human. My power allows me to read the humans that enter my parlor and tell them what they want to hear while also being able to help young Vampires with no sense of direction by telling them what they need to hear,” Trinity paused to let the information sink in.   
My mind, in the meantime, is now so crammed full of information that I can’t even begin to make sense of it all before someone begins speaking again.  
“Shit, that was a lot,” Norman states as he rubs the back of his right hand across his face and leans back in his chair.  
“So, are you gonna take the liberty of breaking down some of that fancy terminology or are we gonna sit here playing twenty questions for, well, forever,” I ask, smiling for the first time since I entered the gloomy parlor.  
Trinity smiles fondly at my choice of wording. She knows that I’m ready to listen and receive the help that I came for.  
“Well, where to start,” Trinity begins anew, even though she knows precisely where she will, “You, Ms. Langer, are what we refer to as a Yearling. A young Vampire who is between the time of its birth all the way up to two years after it is changed. During this time, your body is changing and adapting to suit its new needs. The human blood in your veins from when you were alive takes a few hours to be dissolved from your body. After its gone, that’s when the hunger sets in. Now, I don’t know how your change took place or if someone was there to feed you, but I do know that the first two or three weeks after the change is when you will be at your very hungriest. You’ll need to feed several times or drink several bottles a day. From then on, though you’ll still get hunger it won’t be nearly as sever and you’ll only feel the need to drink about a bottle every day. Though, you should know that Vamps can go two months while still being able to physically get up and move without feeding at all. Most Vamps who drink mostly or purely Synth blood mix it or buy it mixed in their drinks as to consume it leisurely and keep the taste from growing monotonous. Now, a Maker is a Vampire who has turned one or more humans into a Vampire themselves. A Maker develops parental feelings towards their progenies and the bond, for those who hold it to be sacred, is unbreakable and incomparable to that of any human relationship. That being said, most Makers become Makers by turning potential mates. Mates form a different kind of bond which comes about the same way that Makers make their progenies. These bonds are also unbreakable are only broken if one of the Vampires dies. A Vampire can have multiple mates at a time. This is because our lives, until acted upon by outside forces, are eternal and though one mate is substantial the more mates one has the less lonely they are. A Vampire’s life without a mate, though bearable, is not rewarding. Which is why I would implore you both to act as soon as you possibly can,” Trinity ends abruptly with another push for me to turn Norman.   
I look to him with a blank expression. The thought hadn’t entered my mind until this conversation yet speaking with Trinity it seems the most logical next step. Norman and I have been together for years, we lived together even before we were dating. ‘Why shouldn’t I turn him?’  
Norman won’t look at me as he asks with his eyes squinting hard across the table, “And how exactly would we be able to do that, if we decided to?”   
Trinity’s eyes light up as she begins to talk quickly, explaining the processes of both turning and mating between vampires. She relays the history of vampires, as well as other supernatural creatures that I once believed were only legends and fairytales. It’s a long discussion that lasts well into the night. Thankfully we were never interrupted by other “clients” or vampires in need of their own guidance. It turns out that I’m the first vampire to find Trinity’s contact information or seek her help in about three years and her previous clients never keep in touch. Trinity was overwhelmed with the joy of being able to assist another fellow Vamp in need during a dark and confusing time. She was very patient and allowed me to ask questions as she spoke. I relaxed quickly into the conversation after realizing that she was genuine about her practice and a vampire like myself. Though I knew she had the capacity to be extremely dangerous, and even deadly, I was never intimidated by her. I trusted her and decided to take her advice as it was given to me. Norman, on the other hand, remained quiet for the rest of the visit and only spoke again to thank her as we stood to leave. Trinity vowed that her door would always be open should we ever need more advice or just simply to have another chat. She also agreed to give me cases of “Synth” anytime I requested it because I would be needing a lot, especially if I chose to change Norman.   
“Is there somewhere I can purchase it for myself?” I ask my new acquaintance.   
“As you can imagine, it isn’t sold in public markets.”  
“Well, where do you get yours from?”  
Trinity’s smile falters. “Somewhere else. Somewhere far away.”  
“That’s ominous and unspecific.”  
Her smile returns as she replied, “I may not have told you everything you need to know. There’s a place, you see. Far from here. A place where the supernatural can live in peace and where the humans can’t find us. A place where we can be ourselves without having to abide by their morals or standards. The Dark Dimension.” 

 

*End of Prologue*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: And so, we've reached the end of the prologue, but the story has just begun. From here we will move on to explore what has just been reveled to be a new dimension and the mysteries that it holds. What creatures will we encounter, what characters will be introduced, and what troubles will our characters face along the way? Does Lacey turn Norman and what will their transformations as well as the discovery of a new world do to their relationship? All of these questions and more will be answered with the next installment of Always a Perfect Day coming next Friday (9-15-17; unless otherwise extended). Until then, make sure to leave a review and have a safe and relaxing weekend!


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days that followed Lacey and Norman's meeting with Trinity. An interlude into the next stage of their lives together in The Dark Dimension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little romance and character development never hurt anyone. This is a short chapter that just touches certain acts or themes which will be continued and expanded on in their own chapters in the story to come.

That night I walked home with Norman feeling as light as air. With a box of Pure Synth blood (Synth that hasn’t been mixed with other liquids) in each of our arms we arrived home a little after midnight. The conversation that took place within Trinity’s parlor had given me an entirely new perspective on my transformation. She was happy. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she spoke of the eternal life of Vampires, and how she painted the details of her home world, Strega, (or The Dark Dimension, as it is known by legend in the human world). Though she appeared dejected at the mention of not having a Mate of her own, I could see that she was genuinely more content with her career and life among the supernatural than any human I have ever come across. Leaving with a better understanding of what being a Supp, or a supernatural being, is like and learning that I can choose not to be alone in a wide world of humans left me yearning to pack my bags and move to Strega immediately. The opportunity had finally presented itself. The chance to choose to leave and start my life over in a completely new world. To explore a different realm and see more than most people get to see in their entire lifetime. To be free and have a place where I could truly belong.   
Norman on the other hand didn’t quite share my sudden burst of uncharacteristic enthusiasm and optimism. As I walked through the streets of downtown New York, viewing the world with a completely new perspective, he stayed quiet as he looked down at his shuffling feet until we reached the apartment. I quickly found an area in the cabinets to store my new food source before joining him quietly on the couch. He didn’t look at me for some time. Recalling that night, I think he was afraid of disappointing me. As if he believed I would ever force him to do something he was uncomfortable with.   
Eventually, I found an angle to begin the conversation. “You were the one who asked how the transformation works.” We talked for hours after that initial comment. Well into the morning. We reviewed our conversation with Trinity. The habits of consuming real and processed blood. Of Strega and the likelihood of it being a real place that we could access. But most importantly we discussed the Vampire’s transformation. I asked Norman if he would ever consider the possibility of allowing me to change him. To become his Maker.   
“Is that what you want?” he asked me, looking directly into my golden eyes.  
“That’s not what I asked.”  
“Then, some day. Yes.”  
My next question was obvious. In natural fear of rejection, I shyly asked if he would then be willing to mate with me. I felt as if I needed his permission more for mating than I did for changing him to be like me.   
I remember the laugh Norman gave me in response. It was the first time he had laughed in days. It was the first time I had heard him laugh since before he left for his three-day trip on business. To this day, it is still my favorite noise I have ever heard him produce. It’s the same laugh that he gives to everyone on any given day of the week, yet in that moment it meant so much more to me. Then he kissed me and that was the answer he gave me.  
I gave him a kiss in return, using just the slightest bit more pressure between our lips, and the conversation was suspended for the time being. We fell asleep kissing around 6 o’clock in the morning on that dented in sofa and I knew that Norman, like myself, was floating on air.   
Norman sat around the house tentatively working on a project for days after, before he came to me one week before he had to leave for work again. He had a photoshoot in Las Angeles for one thing or the other, I can’t remember the exact shoot, and he said to me,   
“I want to do it and have time to recover before I leave.”  
“It can wait till you get back. You should probably have some time away from me and the house to consider all your options. I don’t want you to rush into anything; one way or the other.”  
“No, we should do it now. I’m only getting older.”  
“Yeah right! You’re not old and it’s unlikely that anything is going to make you any younger. You’ll remain older than me regardless.” Remembering every vampire movie, where I had personally complained to the on-screen characters that the vampire should just change their love interest and get it over with, I laughed at Norman in acknowledgement.   
But that night he asked the same question again. Trinity had explained previously how the transformation could be performed safely and had encouraged us to act as soon as possible. And so, we did.  
Knowing the pain would be intense I had Norman lie back on our bed after chugging two cans of beer and told him to, “Brace for impact.”  
Sitting low on his abdomen, I brought his left hand up to my mouth and kissed the inside of his wrist before swiftly sinking my teeth deep enough to scrap against bone. I injected my fangs as quickly as I would have stuck a needle into a dog’s hip as to remove tool before they realize they had been given a shot. Norman didn’t flinch, but rather he hummed softly as I drew in his blood to begin the life altering ritual. I had fed on Norman several times before this point. Originally, I did so to gain the nutrients that I needed to diminish my hunger, but after our meeting with Trinity we discovered that humans, if willing to allow a Vampire to feed on them, could find physical comfort and even pleasure in the sensation.   
I spent the next 6 ½ hours forcing blood into Norman’s system to guide his shift and alleviate the excoriating pain he was feeling due to the biological and chemical altering change. I don’t remember much about my personal shift. I just remember the amount of pain I was in when I woke up. I hope that Noman no longer remembers his transformation. I was unfortunate enough to witness the process for him. I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget it. I’ve never seen a human being in so much agony. It wasn’t until the peak of the transformation, once Norman’s fever finally broke, that he stopped screaming. Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying. The pain was just so intense that he could no longer produce any noise. He just withered in pain, straining. Begging silently for relief. For the pain to stop. For it to end.   
Once complete, and after no less than 9 liters of Synth, he slept for nearly 24 hours. When he awoke, he had an insatiable thirst and I put the synthetic drink into his coffee as a way to force him to slow his intake. I returned to Trinity’s twice that day and carried two wooden crates back with me each time. On my second trip Trinity insisted that I was to bring Norman back once he was well rested for all of us to celebrate.   
A few days later I sent Norman off on a plane clear across the country. He recovered well, and his photoshoot went even better. He had never looked so radiate. He was just as irritated by all the flashing lights from cameras and constant repositioning of the photographers as he had always been, yet the pictures that followed were utterly stunning. And the shoots in the years that followed were just as breath-taking. I myself resumed my own routine, working four days a week at the veterinary clinic where I worked as one of the two head doctors. Before doing so I learned how to control the color of my eyes at will and shifted them back to their original stormy gray to better blend in with my human counterparts. Besides my slightly paler complexion I looked completely normal. I was welcomed back into the fold and continued to see ungrateful, irritable, and irritating clients regularly. It was if absolutely nothing had happened.   
But as time droned on I began to feel guilty about depending on Trinity’s blood supply. I insisted on paying her, yet this act was still not enough. I became increasingly obsessed with the idea of Strega. Each time I visited the small parlor I would ask the clairvoyant another question about the distant world. I suppose Trinity caught on to what I was doing or her clairvoyants abled her to recognize my interest and she began supplying me with information on her own. One day she even handed me a map depicting the supernatural dimension with each of its divided regions and it was then that I knew. I had to see it for myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Apologies for the late update. School has just started to hit hard and I'm finding myself with less time to write. From now on I will be posting updates every two weeks starting with chapter 5, House on a Hill, (a little teaser) which I will post 9-30-11. The chapter updates will now be released on Saturdays. I know that this is a shorter chapter compared to the previous ones. With that being said, I'm about half way through the writing process of the 5th chapter and it will be the same length or possibly longer than its predecessors. Without giving too much away it will be an important chapter which introduces many new and central characters, the home which is where we will be spending most of the story, and Strega, highlighting its moral and cultural differences to earth.  
> Thank you for your patience and understanding. I will try to keep you as informed on my writing process and the update schedule as I can. I promise to mind the updates from now on. Thank you to those who have given my fic a chance. Thank you to those who continue to visit my story with each update and are enjoying the story thus far. Leave a review if you have the chance to let me know your thoughts and don't be afraid to ask questions or start conversations in the comment section about the story up to this point. I look forward to continuing the story and will see y'all on the next update. Until then, have a productive week everyone!


	5. Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: Did I say, “two weeks”? I guess I meant “several months”. Anyone who has read or followed my stories in the past can attest that I’ve never been consistent with my upload schedule. As you can imagine, sometimes life gets in the way. For example, I’ve now graduated high school. (Yay!) Thank you all for being so understanding and coming back to read some more. Though there may be extended breaks between each new chapter I promise the updates will continue to come out, in time.   
>  For those who have been reading since the beginning, you may remember that this chapter was supposed to be titled House on a Hill. Well plans change, characters change, and I added this chapter as part of those changes I’ve made with my overall plan. Know that all previous chapters that are posted have been or will be updated by the end of the day. I apologize for such a late update, but I’ve been working on this WIP all day and am excited to release it. No major changes have been made to any previous chapters. The story should just be a little more consistent and the grammar a little tighter as to make it easier to read. Any changes you notice should be minor (ex. Trinity’s last name was removed because we won’t be seeing her again and I may need the name for a future character down the line). It has been awhile, so if you are interested, it may be beneficial to you to reread old chapters. Of course, the story can be continued from where you last left off without any confusion.   
>  The next chapter will be posted next Sunday (7/6/18), titled House on a Hill. While you’re waiting for the next update make sure to go check out a new short story I’ll be posting Wednesday (7/11/18) in the Avengers/Marvel Fandom. Be aware, it’s less than 1,000 words (my shortest to date) and a bit on the emotional side. Hopefully it will tie you over between updates, if you are interested in seeing other works by me. Thank you to all who are still here reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Now on with the story.

“Sign here…”  
I drag a slick black pen with faux golden letters across another blank line of a thick packet of papers.  
I’m sitting in a large office in front of an auburn wood colored desk. There’s green curtains covering the windows and a cart stacked high with assorted bottles of alcohol parked just to the left.   
Adrien Lestrade is sitting across from me in a three-piece black suit that blends in with his leather chair. He’s lazily wagging a finger back and forth between the lines and pages on the fourth document he has drawn up and placed in front of me today.  
Once I’ve made my last swipe on the paper he drags it a foot across the desk and asks Norman in a posh British accent to make similar marks with his name on several lines as well. “Sign here. And here…”  
I sit as patiently as I can, knowing that there are likely more documents to come. This is my third visit to Lestrade’s office in a month. Now that the documents I’ve requested are ready to be filled out I’ve brought Norman along as well.   
The first document, a copy made for each of us, grants citizenship in Strega and registers us as new born Vamps. Though not all Supps choose to take up residents in Strega, all must be registered so they can be monitored in any dimension they settled in the same way that the U.S government monitors its citizens. This method is in place to prevent our kind from wreaking havoc on Earth or alerting humans of our existence. The second set of contracts gives Lestrade’s business permission and access to link our multiple bank accounts and move all our finances to Strega’s financial database. I’ve been told that though the currency between the two worlds is different and worth a significant amount more in Strega, we can use our money wherever we go if we use the right debit cards. The third and fourth contracts which we sign together are to buy land and be able to build on that land. Though we plan to continue our careers on earth and are required to keep our apartment paid for as to have a residence to travel to I was somehow able to convince Norman to build a house with me in this foreign world.  
Next to following Norman to California while I was still taking classes in Texas, this is the most ill-cited, ill-advised, and ambitious decision I’ve personally ever made. Although I am sitting across from a demon. ‘Maybe simply purchasing a house isn’t so crazy after all’.   
“Almost done. There is one more I’m afraid.”   
Another contract several papers thick is placed on the desk and I don’t bother to read any of the fine print. I don’t read a single sentence. This isn’t the first time I’ve unknowingly signed my life away. I figure nothing too bad has come out of such actions. Not yet anyway. My pen continues to follow Lestrade’s hand until it stops on the final page.   
“And what is this form for?” Norman asks since I didn’t bother to.   
“Consider it a ‘Terms and Conditions’ agreement. Permission to be monitored, understanding and agreement of Strega’s rules and regulations, etcetera. Red tape and all.”  
Norman halfheartedly skims a few lines on the first page, a few on the second, but ultimately signs the documents anyway. Terms and Conditions are not meant to be read but agreed to all the same.  
Once all the contracts are signed Lestrade rakes them into a pile and places them into a folder on his desk labeled LANGER/REEDUS.  
“I’ll have these entered into the system and filed away by the appropriate departments by this afternoon. Dr. Langer, you are the first title holder to your property and have unlimited access to both of your combined financial accounts as well as your personal bank account. Mr. Reedus you are the second title holder and have equal access to the combined accounts as well as your personal account. All mineral rights in association with the land you have purchased are legally yours. You can add titles or allow other individuals access to your accounts or open new accounts at any time. Just know that all parties involved must be in the room at the time of signing. Your new Identification cards and debit cards will arrive at your most current earth address in three to seven business days. I suggest you return to earth until your IDs have arrived less you be caught roaming Strega without them. And you may begin construction on your new property at any time. It will not be difficult to find a business to assist you on that front. Do either of you have any further questions?”  
Norman is still eyeing the manila folder skeptically. “Are these contracts…?”  
“Eternally binding? Yes, well, they would have to be for your breed,” Lestrade sneers through a strained smile of naturally crooked, jagged teeth. “Though you may change your primary place of residency at any time.”   
“Thank you so much for all your help Lestrade,” I speak up with an equally practiced and strained smile of my own looking deep into his lifeless black eyes.   
“Please, Adrien. And thank you for coming to see me today Dr. Langer,” Lestrade speaks calmly as he takes my extended hand in both of his and lays what I assume is supposed to be a polite kiss on my hand, but it turns out to be flirty nonetheless. “Always a pleasure. I’m so please you’ve decided to settle down in this District. If you ever have any questions or concerns do not hesitate to stop by anytime. Make sure to ask the secretary for me specifically. Except, on every second and fourth Saturday of the month, of course.”  
“Why’s that? Is it a religious reason or for a supernatural holiday we can incorporate to get a day off work?” I ask, and Norman’s first instinct is to laugh before he catches his own mistake and gives me a look of disappointment.  
“Afraid not. The business your standing in closes however, moving to the center of town from nine to two on those days. I’m in charge of running our local Market. I’m the head auctioneer. My job is to make sure the auctions run smoothly, and the audience doesn’t become too riled. Perhaps I’ll be seeing you at the Market one of these days. Half the district turns out just to watch the auctions take place and considering your new-found wealth you might consider being a competitive bidder yourself.”  
‘Oh, my mistake. He hasn’t been looking at my chest during our meetings, but rather at my wallet.’  
“Bidding for what?” Norman questions, stepping closer to my side after having watched Lestrade advance into my personal space.   
“Well you wouldn’t want the surprise ruined would you Mr. Reedus? It’s always nice to see the newcomers’ genuine reaction to their first encounter with a Market.”  
“Once we are settled in I’m sure we can plan to explore the town.” I take a step back in the direction of the door leading out of the prestigious office. “Thank you again Lestrade. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” 

\-------------

Growing up I lived on the edge of a small town once surrounded by fields and wildlife until my house was encompassed by home developments on every side. After adolescence, I lived in several cities where I was never in a position to own any substantial amount of land. Some, like my last apartment, didn’t even come with a front yard. The transition of moving between a major metropolitan area to owning 1,920 square acres that just touches the tree line of a forest 1 ½ miles from my back porch is jarring to say the least, yet well received. ‘I still can’t believe it’s all mine!’ With the nearest neighbor being just under a mile away, and town being another 3 miles after that, I can happily choose to go days without seeing another living person.   
‘Where did I put my wallet?’  
Except my name isn’t the only one on the title.   
I’m standing in what will eventually be the backyard, staring out over a flat field watching the sun disappear behind a thick blanket of trees. Construction on my brand new two-story property started nine days ago. The foundation was laid on day one and the frame work has just been completed today. Already, the skeleton of a kitchen is beginning to take shape in the form of cabinets. Construction is scheduled to be complete in three months with all outside connections, furnishing, and move-in each taking an additional week.   
“Kitchen.” I watch Norman walk between two identical beige beams that will eventually be the walkway between the sitting room and the kitchen. He stoops low to scoop up his wallet that he purposefully dropped to inspect the current progress that’s been made. “Was that question spoken aloud or- “  
“Just a thought. Didn’t get the chance to voice it.”  
“Improvement is improvement I suppose. Even if I can only pick up thoughts from a few feet away.”  
“Your telepathy is getting stronger every day. Eventually you’ll be able to read minds from across town. You won’t even have to see the person you’re spying on,” Norman promises as he joins me outside. “At least that’s what Trinity said. You just need to be patient. Speaking of which, look what I can do.”  
Norman stops a foot from me and reaches out his left hand. Rolling my eyes fondly I accept it without a word. His eyes move from our clasped hands to directly over our heads. He wraps his other arm around my waist and waits. I can practically see all his focus shift to one singular thought. A moment later, he begins to rise straight into the air, taking me with him. We don’t go up very far. Only about twelve inches into the air, but it seems to be enough to satisfy him.   
“How about that?”  
“Very impressive. When did you discover you could float?” I ask sarcastically while looking down between our dangling feet to the ground below. This is the first sign of his own power developing, but not his first attempt to conjure it into existence.  
“Few minutes ago. I was trying to reach a beam, and then this. I can’t seem to go any higher though.” To prove his point, he fixes his gaze onto the first star that just appeared in the sky and strains his neck towards it for emphases. I feel myself tip backwards as Norman unknowingly directs us to move forward slightly, but we don’t seem to rise any higher.   
“Hmm, can you go sideways too?”  
“No, I didn’t know I could move any other way than up,” he responds, simultaneously setting us back down in the grass. I release his hand which causes him to squeeze his right arm around my waist even tighter. “Pretty cool right?”  
“You know, my powers are only taking longer to develop because I have two.”  
“You’ve always been the strong one. You most certainly will be when you get full control of them. It’s nature correcting itself,” Norman’s eyes shift from my eyes to my lips. His head tilts forward and I’m happy to reciprocate, until I notice a prominent figure standing directly behind him. A figure that I know for a fact wasn’t there minutes before.   
“Am I interrupting?”   
“Not at all,” I say calmly while stepping out of Norman’s grasp to confront the figure, “I assume you are our new neighbor?”  
“I am,” a brown-haired woman replies, “though the word neighbor may be a little intimate considering how much grass is between us.”  
“That was intentional. Figured it was for both our benefit. Yet you still managed to tread on my property,” I approach the female who appears to be about my height with caution.   
“I guess I should have brought a house warming gift. Though given that the construction is still underway cookies might have been the better option.”  
“Cookies are always a “go-to”. But I’m afraid we haven’t been around long enough for you to be able to bring them around,” I state dryly unsure of the direction of this conversation.  
“That’s precisely why I haven’t been over to introduce myself sooner. Allow me to do so: my name is Diag MunHalhr. You can call me Dia.”  
‘I thought I smelled a dog.’ Up to this point I’ve had no control over this ability to read minds. At first, I was just able to catch a word or two that Norman was purposefully focusing on while making direct physical contact with him. Now it seems that I’m starting to pick up on a psychic link, at least with Norman, without any effort. And the first thing I hear? What I can only assume to be an insult to a Werewolf.   
“Was that a slur?” I ask as I turn away from the other Supp to face Norman once more.  
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.”  
“I think it might have been. Do we have to learn a whole new vocabulary to avoid offending people?”   
“I apologize. Now you need to practice responding telepathically. A lot subtler that way,” Norman advises me with a grin while his eyes never leave the stranger who is trespassing.  
“Consider yourself forgiven,” Diag interjects, redirecting the conversation to herself.   
“My name is Norman,” he offers, greeting Diag in return. “This is Lacey. How can we help?”  
“It’s nice to finally meet you both. My house is the closest building to you for four miles. You and your partner are the first to build this far out of town since my family settled here centuries ago. You can understand why some of them would be a little bit nervous.”  
“I can,” I begin to explain as I pick up the conversation again, “We’re coming here from earth, you see- “  
“Most usually do.”  
“You could say we are exceptionally new around here. When I first started visiting this planet, this is the District I ended up in. I haven’t traveled far beyond it and when I showed interest in purchasing a property I was directed to what appeared to be a surplus of land that had yet to be claimed. I saw an opportunity.”  
“And you took it blindly.”  
“I took it because I have intentions of building something here. We aren’t a company here to dig for oil.”  
“And I appreciate that.”  
“And we aren’t here to throw wild parties at night only to return to “normal lives” on earth during the day. I’m building a home here.”  
“A chance to start over, right? How cliché.”  
“But it’s the truth.”  
“You two are the first, you know,” Diag counters, “You certainly won’t be the last. I’m honestly surprised no one has come sooner. People are getting careless these days. Vamps and Wolves alike. Turning strangers and acquaintances, people they’ve only just met or don’t intend to be responsible for, just to say they did. We will be competing with the humans soon as far as our numbers go. You settled in a very large District. Politicians live here. The best nightclubs host the most exclusive parties here. The more people that start buying land near this District, well, the bigger the District becomes. Not everyone will be so thoughtful as to buy as much land as you did. Ten, twenty, a hundred years from now there will be a gated community across that street. Our houses will be surround,” the Werewolf motions between her and myself with her hands, trying her best to form a connection between us. “Losing the land that we’ve always had unlimited, unsupervised access to. That forest being bulldozed, uprooted for profit. That’s what the people back at my place are afraid of.”  
“And what are you afraid of?” I ask interrupting her grand speech hoping she’ll reach a point.  
“Me? I’m afraid of being lost in the crowd. Of being forgotten.”  
“What a cliché,” I hear Norman scoff from behind me.  
“Yes, it is. I’m ready to adapt with the times and my job is to make sure that the people I’m looking after learn to evolve. You, me, him…we’re young enough to understand. To conform. We’re going to inherit whatever becomes of this District when the ones that have been ruling it for centuries are killed off or off themselves once their post or the weight of their own age on their psyche drives them mad. You’re going to see a lot of things living here. Things you’ve only dreamed of. And maybe it will be centuries before the really bad stuff starts to go away. Maybe I’ll even be gone by the time they do. But the change that I want to see. For this District. My home. It starts with you and me.”  
“So, you want us to be partners? Run for office, make a difference, protect the children?”  
Diag starts laughing, “No, I want us to be friends. I have my own children to take care of. Maybe they will too someday. And if the world does start changing I want to be ready for it. I want us to beat it together.”  
“You gonna make me sign a contract too? Who knows what I’ve agreed to in the last two weeks alone trying to get myself this far.”  
“Like I said, I’m not looking for an immediate change. I’m as guilty as the rest of my family when I say I hope things never do, but that’s just unreasonable. How about we shake on it instead?”  
I turn to look back at Norman and give him a nod looking for some sort of insight.  
“There are worst ways to make friends,” he says shrugging his shoulders at me. “At least this way there’s not a membership fee.”  
It’s my turn to laugh as I turn back to face Diag. Even while trespassing, she’s the first friendly person I’ve met in The Dark Dimension. She isn’t here to threaten me; I mean not really. “You know I’m not here to buy you out of house and home, right?”  
“I know that. I just want to make sure you understand that my family is expansive, and we’re used to having the run of the area from here to the river a few miles West. We promise to stay off your allotted land as long as you stay off of ours in return. And though the woods are technically owned by the government they are ours to use. You’re free to use them as well as long as you are respectful and don’t burn down any trees.”  
“That seems fair to me. Maybe we can make this work after all.” I walk directly up to Diag before offering my dominant hand for her to take. It’s an offer of peace and mutual understanding.  
She takes my hand in hers gladly. We each make an effort to keep our faces neutral while giving a firm hand shake, attempting to intimidate the other with our equally firm grips, and neither of us are willing to waver. We continue to shake hands a little longer than is socially acceptable waiting to see who will back down first. Eventually her hand begins to cramp, and I can feel our hands slipping as we continue to wave them up and down. We both begin to crack a smile and then we start laughing as Diag places her second hand over mine to keep the shake going. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a little FYI side note. The name MunHalhr is obviously very made up and supposed to be a pun about werewolves. It should be pronounced 'Moon howlher' with an added 'h' for flare and in my head the 'u' actually has two dots over it. Unfortunately, I'm but a lowly American and cannot figure out how to get my keyboard to type it. If anyone would like to inform me on how to do so I'd be happy to correct it if my laptop allows it.  
> Comments are always appreciated! Let me know if the conversations/phrases held telepathically are easy to follow or if there is anything I can do differently to make them stand out more and easier to read. (I believe AO3 prevents me from writing them italics.)   
> Until the next time I post, happy reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this story. Leave a comment to let me know if you liked it & if you'd like to see the story continued. Feel free to message me with any questions about the chaotic tags or the premise of the story (I'll try to answer questions in a way as not to reveal too much of the plot). Until the next update, happy reading everyone!


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